


Reflections of Release

by SapphireIsle92



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Brief Reference of Abuse, Canon, Coping, Denial, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gallavich, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Memories, One Shot, POV, Repressed Emotions, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireIsle92/pseuds/SapphireIsle92
Summary: This is a One Shot that occurs sometime between S02xE02 & S02xE08.Ian and Mickey meet up for one of their typical encounters in an abandoned building on the Southside and Mickey does some thinking.





	Reflections of Release

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! :)  
> This one shot is smutty, but also quite angsty!  
> I'm still very, very iffy about this fic, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!!  
> Hope you enjoy! :)

He climbed the crumbling, concrete steps of the building with a cigarette trailing smoke up from between two fingers and a small, flat bottle of liquor clasped within his other palm, keeping his eyes on the stairs, careful to avoid the ones with holes worn through them, wobbling slightly as he moved to step around them. The snow outside had begun to melt, leaving his shoes muddy as he trailed brown, soggy footprints up the stairs, trekking higher up to the top level. Mickey took a long, burning swig of booze and a deep, soothing drag from his cigarette just as he neared his destination, teetering in through the doorway with a small stumble in his pace, swaying a bit more from the alcohol in his body. 

He wandered across the room toward a shattered window, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he went, moving to lean against the wall beside it and peer outside into the dead, desolate courtyard below. The sun had set, drowned out by the night, casting the sky a deep, rich purple and the stars had begun to shine and twinkle within the darkening swirls of thinning clouds running through it. The young man simply gazed for a moment, then swallowed down another sour sting of whiskey and sucked his teeth, dropping his eyes to the cracked brick of the sill with a small huff pushing through his nose. 

Tonight had been difficult and draining, though really no more than usual, not with his father out of prison again, which never ever failed to be a particularly stressful time for everyone in the household, but especially for Mickey. Terry always seemed to be harder on Mickey than his brothers, but he'd never really been sure why that was. Maybe it was because he was the youngest Milkovich son, his father’s last chance to mold someone into an image of himself, someone he thought they should be, what he thought was the right way, the only way. Or maybe it was because Mickey was so much more like his mother than any of the rest, even more than his sister, who was nearly the splitting image of her, not nearly as malleable or submissive as the others. Though it almost seemed to be because of all these things really, that when his father stumbled home drunk and enraged about this or that, for some reason he always felt the need to take it out on Mickey, to teach him some lesson he thought he should learn, or to simply correct whatever petty, ridiculous thing that he thought he’d done wrong that day. And because he was wasn’t as big, and wasn’t as strong, there was never much more he could do in defense other than brace himself, taking whatever assault his father felt the need to unleash and just wait for strikes and slurs to stop. He’d unfortunately never been any match for someone like his father and he knew that, the fact filling him with a simmering pool of rage and resentment, hating himself for that, that he couldn’t be any stronger and tonight had been no different.

So in turn, he often took his aggression out on others, jumping people and picking fights, having no other way to vent his frustrated emotions, no other way to drown out those thoughts, to escape the dread and anguish, escape the pain. But it never worked. He also smoked a lot of weed, took a lot of drugs and he drank, sometimes rather profusely, just wanting to numb his nerves and forget for a while, but that never really worked either. No matter what he did, the thoughts still lingered, the emotions still nagged and he just couldn’t find a release. That was, until he’d met Gallagher. 

At first, when Mickey had figured out that the redheaded kid was gay, both from noticing his rather unusual relationship with the clerk of the corner store the boy worked at, but also from his unwillingness to engage in anything of a sexual nature with his much-too-easy sister, yet still presumably date her. It hadn’t been too hard to figure out and really, not at all surprising. But that fact alone honestly still hadn’t been enough for Mickey to give him much of a second thought. He really didn’t give a shit about some other closeted fag roaming around the Southside, still much too closeted himself for his interest to peak much at all, simply not allowing it to. The thought just wasn’t worth it, so he refused to allow it any attention. He wasn’t going act on it anyway, not if he could help it.

Then one day the opportunity was quite literally thrust into his face, being awoken in his own room by an angry, demanding tone and the cold, metal jab of a tire iron stuck in his back, rolling over within his sleepy, groggy state only to face the very same redheaded kid that he’d so strictly and effectively taught himself to ignore. They’d fought and shoved and scuffled about, throwing each other into pieces of furniture and the walls of his bedroom, both struggling to dominate and take control of the situation when they’d both suddenly landed atop his bed and paused, sharing a strange and unusual gaze. 

As Mickey'd sat on his chest, his father’s tire iron clenched tightly within a fist above his head, he stared down at the redhead, seeing his face just inches away from his lingering morning wood and suddenly couldn’t shake the image of the boy opening up his mouth and swallowing him down his throat, the thought sending a subtle electric jolt shooting down his spine and into his cock, making him twitch and tingle. Then the heat of the boy’s body beneath him and the rapid, vibrating thrum of his heartbeat pulsed up through his body and passed into his insides, rippling through his loins and making his own body quake with craving, urge, need, his thoughts traveling even further, causing him to release his grip and drop his wielded piece of metal, completely shocking the boy he sat upon. 

“Get up,” he’d breathed out in a quick, hushed rush, moving to pull his own shirt off with far too much haste to think his actions through, simply not wanting to, letting the other boy move out from under him to rise and strip as well. 

It’d been quick, but it’d been good, so good, and rough, and much more unexpected than either of them could comprehend, even afterward, though neither seemed to be too eager to discuss it anytime soon either. And even though Mickey had tried to act like it'd been no big deal, like it was something he could easily do without, the atmosphere within his mind would have told a completely different story. He became fixated and his thoughts refused to stray or find much focus in anything else, the entire event replaying over and over again. He just couldn’t seem to forget it.

In the past, Mickey had allowed himself to explore his curiosity but only just a bit, and had done a little experimenting, his shoplifting skills coming quite in handy. Though he was always very careful with these particular things he’d stolen, sure to keep them hidden away in places that he knew no one would ever find. After trying out beads, and working his way up to a plug and then a dildo, he’d discovered that he really enjoyed anal stimulation, quite a lot, even though it was something he still couldn’t quite admit to himself, even while engaging in it. And though he didn’t do it often, Mickey would let himself have slips here and there, but only when his father was out on a run or locked away back in prison, much too nervous and afraid of ever getting caught in such a horrifying predicament. When he did indulge, it was always different than any other type of sex he’d ever really had, but more than just self stimulation. It was something better, more satisfying, something that he’d been missing. 

He’d always kind of known that he’d never really been into girls, even from a fairly young age, but as he got older, mostly just to keep up appearances and to act as his father thought he should, he still engaged with them, still had sex with them, even if it was always a bit of a mental challenge to get through. That’s just the kind of shit he was expected to do, right? 

For a while, Mickey had hoped maybe his mind would just change on it’s own, or maybe something was just wrong with him, but refused to give up, too stubborn to accept what he might be. So, he just kept trying to get it right, kept trying to find the release he was suppose receive from these acts, and these people but it was never quite right and always just felt empty. He’d always thought sex was pretty dull and uneventful, quite boring for the most part really, up until a few years ago when he was locked away in Juvie and fucked a guy for the first time. 

That had been an experience that had stayed with him and really left quite the impression, something that made his constant internal battle of questions about his sexuality even harder to ignore than it already always was. He’d shared a cell with the kid when he was about sixteen and most of the other boys at the detention center knew who Mickey was, were well aware of his violent tendencies and tended to steer clear of him for the most part. His cellmate had been a scrawny kid with curly brown hair and absolutely no self defense skills, an annoying little shit that never did much more than get beat on by the other boys and just take up whatever space he happen to occupy at the time. 

One night, he’d propositioned Mickey, quite cautiously, offering sexual favors in exchange for protection from the other inmates, this having come after a particularly brutal beating he’d received just a few days before. When he asked, Mickey had nearly grabbed the kid up by the back of his head and slammed his face into the cold, hard brick of their cell wall, instantly enraged that anyone would ever assume that he’d ever do anything so fucking gay, but then suddenly he’d stopped. Having a bitch wasn’t seen as gay in Juvie, a fact he’d already learned from having seen it himself and suddenly he couldn’t seem to pass it up, part of him just wanting to know what it was like, needing to know. 

So instead Mickey accepted and that night he’d topped him, something he definitely wouldn’t forget, remembering how incredibly different it felt from having sex with a girl, how much tighter and how much more responsive the boy had been to every pump and thrust he’d pounded him with. And the sounds he’d made come out of him had struck his ears and his cock in a much different way than any feminine sound of pleasure ever had. It wasn’t quite as pleasing as his own private toy sessions, which he’d figured out pretty quick, but it was close, really close, much better than any other sex he’d ever had before and after their deal had been made, he really took advantage of it. 

The whole six months he’d been there, whenever the urge arose, he’d simply track down his cellmate and either direct him back toward the area they dormed in, and lead him into their cell or just found some hidden, secluded corner somewhere else within the Center and bent him over for a quick fuck, though he never really reciprocated and never, ever let the kid fuck him back. He wasn’t exactly proud of what the arrangement had been, even now, but it was what it was and he figured, he couldn’t change it now anyway. It’d cured some of his curiosity at least, but only slightly, just barely scratching at an itch that for so very long, he could never seem to find any relief for. It was something, but it still wasn’t quite enough, not quite the release he’d wanted, not quite what he’d hoped for. 

Nothing seemed to lessen the constant pressure or cure the empty ache, not until that very first time in his room with Gallagher, that harsh, hushed, grasping, groaning, moaning quickie of a fuck that had quite effectively burned itself into every weaving, twisting layer of his mind, staining and engraining itself there, leaving him helplessly unable to jostle the memory from his skull. But even for a while, that didn’t stop him from trying, going back to picking fights with his brothers or just random people, trying to find another way to drain away everything that always seemed to persistently build and pent up so very quickly. But it did nothing of the sort, perhaps even less than before, now that he knew what he’d been missing. Mickey had only been able to hold out for a few days before he gathered his courage, swallowed his pride and made the cold, long trip up to the Kash n' Grab, silently chasing the release that he’d so desperately been trying to seek out everywhere else. 

“Ya got any slim jims in this shithole?” he’d asked with an underlying proposition that the other boy almost immediately seemed to recognize and didn’t hesitate in standing up from his seat behind the counter, locking the store, flipping the sign and lead him into the back. 

He hadn’t needed to ask anything more, nor did he have to explain why he’d arrived, simply following the redhead into the cooler, not making eye contact as he turned around to grasp ahold of the cold metal of the racks, giving the other boy his back and dropped his jeans to his ankles. Mickey’d dipped his head, shut his eyes, curled his fists tighter and shut all else out, wanting to forget, to let go, to let himself feel something different, something better, for once. 

And he did, the sensation of a hard, tight grip on his hips, the full, satisfying feeling of stretching and pulsing around the thick, long girth of the boy behind him and the hot, trickling, spreading speckle of a flushing, moany breath flowing down his neck and along the flesh of his back, were feelings that couldn’t possibly compare to any others. It was incredible and freeing, letting himself become so open and vulnerable, drinking in the forbidden quench he’d sought, the cure, the deep, sweet release. So, again and again Mickey continued to seek him out, forever hoping to regrasp and recapture that very same feeling, that little hint of euphoria, the nirvana that he still seemed to long for, so very, very deeply. It always felt so out of reach, unless he was with him, and tonight was no different.

In so many aspects of his life, Mickey always had to rough, tough and guarded, strong, fierce and intimidating, unable to ever let anyone in or show the slightest bit of pain or weakness, because that’s just the way things were, who he was supposed to be. But in his secret meetings with Gallagher, with Ian, he was suddenly able to let that all go, able to hand over control without the fear of it being held over his head, at least for a while. The boy was like a fix, a distraction, like a quickly developing habit, one that once he’d had it, he could no longer seem to go without. In those times alone with him, Mickey was free, and he wasn’t going to give that up, even if he still hadn’t let himself come to terms with it. Even if he could hardly even admit any of it to himself, and even if he still had a long way to go to let his guard down completely, Mickey still thought, deep down, that he at least deserved to try, if only his mind would truly let him. 

He remained staring out the window, the blue of his eyes glittering with gold from the lone streetlight below, illuminating the crisp, pale skin of his face as he chewed his lip and pulled another deep, thick drag from his cigarette. Mickey exhaled above his head, leaned away from the wall to try and stand more straightly, but swayed a bit once more and had to reach back out clutch the wall again. Suddenly the faint patter of footsteps began echoing up from the hall behind him, the sound hopping and bouncing off the walls of the stairwell, getting closer and the dark haired young man turned his face at the sound, looking to peer back over at the doorway. 

Through the arch appeared the very same redhead who always seemed to be lurking along the edge of his mind, the one he could never bring himself to fully ignore. He was right on time, just like Mickey knew he would be, because he always was, something that he really liked about him. They were always quick to show up when the other needed them, and they never had to talk about why they’d been asked, no matter the circumstances, simply sharing a mutual understanding of what one needed from the other. Their gazes met as he entered and all at once they both paused as the air grew heavy, eyes silently lingering, their sights welcoming, and savoring, a mutual hovering lure caught between them, forever trying to pull them closer together. 

They both stayed silent as the taller of the two moved to cross the space, slowly stepping closer to the man still leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and clutching a bottle of booze, who tried to ignore the way his breath attempted to hitch as his mind began to fill with a tingling, shivering anticipation, watching him come nearer. Mickey pulled a final drag trying to remain firm in his face, no matter how much his eyes pulled down into a hood and his tongue tried to roll across his lip, refusing to let himself be too weak, and tore his eyes away to exhale then flick the filter through the window, watching as it tumbled down to the ground. His eyes moved back over to the redhead approaching him, just as he felt him pause close enough to reach out and touch. Ian let his eyes trail down over the other man's body, then back up to his face and smiled lightly with another brief pause. 

“I’ve missed you,” he offered quietly, his tone sweet and hopeful, deep green eyes flickering softly between blue. 

Mickey ran his tongue back across his lip, thumbed it and took another long swig from his bottle, saying nothing in return, unable to bring himself to. It didn’t matter how he felt. The slightest glimmer of disappointment flashed through the redhead’s eyes, but he covered it up quick, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers down the edge of the other man’s unzipped coat and spoke again, now bearing an entirely different tone.

“Tell me what you want,” Ian requested, his voice still low, the lids of his eyes hooding just a bit and the other man licked his lips, allowing himself the smallest freedom of letting his own eyes fall some, tracing over the other boy’s chest, admiring the cuts and creases of the muscles beneath his shirt and suddenly spoke without thinking. 

“You,” Mickey breathed, buzzing far too much from the booze he’d consumed to care too much about his honesty. Upon hearing his reply, the redhead suddenly looked back into his face, his smile returning and he took a step closer, his thumb rubbing along the edge of Mickey’s coat zipper, his eyebrow arched just slightly. 

“I want you too,” he whispered back, then took another step, releasing the other boy’s coat, attempting to slip his hand inside it to touch his chest instead, but the contact was quickly rejected with a swift step backward. 

Mickey dropped his eyes, took another gulp and turned away, now walking over in swaying steps to stand in front of a long, concrete ledge that ran along the edge of the room, out of sight of the window and set his bottle down atop it with a rather careless clink of glass. He wanted what he came for and refused to be distracted by any type of emotion or intimacy, not letting himself give in to that unspeakable urge. That was just too fucking much. The tapping of moving feet against the floor arose from behind him once again, and feeling the lure of the redhead’s presence from behind, he snuffed out the airy, little flutters that were suddenly swarming his brain with a rough rub of his brow. Then when Mickey heard Ian pause his steps behind him, he reached for the clasp of his belt and began to unfasten it with a quiet, metallic jingle, when he felt a firm, yet tentative grip on his shoulder and paused as well.

“Wait,” the redhead said in a low, shy voice that sounded almost like a plea. The other young man hesitated, but didn’t ignore the tone, knowing deep down, that he just couldn’t, not when they were like this and very slowly, very cautiously peeked back over his shoulder to look him in the eyes. Ian seemed to trace over his face, reading him carefully before he spoke again, “Can I go down on you?” he asked with the very same tone lacing his voice, a tone of question and unsurety, but a tone also laced with a familiar wanting, a needing. 

Mickey paused for a second, hesitating still as his eyes flickering just slightly, knowing that what the redhead was asking was something that he didn’t let him do often, because it required a whole different level of contact that was just hard for him to let himself get too comfortable with. But the sound of the other boy’s voice, the look in his eyes of soft, hesitant affection, yet a luring hint of lustful craving was hard to say no to. And Ian was in fact, very, very good at it, intense memories from times before suddenly filling his mind and sent a rush of sparks swirling down through his pelvis. The dark haired man didn’t speak to answer, but instead he slowly turned around and leaned back against the ledge, silently giving the redhead his consent and watched him lick his lips. 

Mickey let himself look just for a moment, trying once again to ignore the taunting feeling in the back of his mind that told him he shouldn’t gaze at the other man the way he does, the way he just can’t seem to help. Especially not when they were alone like this and he was finally close enough to touch, telling him that he had to keep control, though he knew deep down how much he couldn’t, not with Ian. He watched the redhead pull his own coat from his shoulders, then leaned forward, so very closely to reach past him with a single arm and place it along the ledge, and Mickey swallowed to cover up another soft hitch of breath. But Ian still seemed to notice it, the way he always did, seeming so in tune to every little response the other man’s body made in reaction to him, having learned them all so well already. He tried to meet his eyes once more with another small smile, but Mickey simply looked away. 

And like always, if Mickey’s lack of response ever bothered him, Ian never voiced it or let it show for very long, willing to accept however much the other man was willing to give him, even if the rejection still hurt sometimes. He’d still try though, but not too much, seemingly always hoping that one day, he’d be able to give him something more, hoping that day would come at all. Sometimes Mickey wanted to give him more, he really did, but just couldn’t seem to let himself, forever fighting that same never ending internal battle, so instead he just tried to ignore it, just like everything else.

Ian dropped his hands to Mickey’s belt finishing the work that the other man had began of unclasping it, then unfastened his jean button and pulled down his zipper, the motions alone making the latter grow harder much more quickly than he expected. The dark haired boy focused on his breath, feeling the tingling of anticipation beginning to course through his veins and didn’t look back toward him until he felt his pants and boxers begin to be pulled at and he heard the other boy drop down to his knees. Mickey then dropped his eyes, saw him slip his fingers inside his jeans, lightly grasping the fabric of his boxers as he did so and shimmied down his clothing to wrap around his knees and expose him to the chilly, prickle of air around them. Mickey held his breath when the redhead opened his mouth, beginning to lean forward, before he suddenly shut his eyes and tipped his head back, unable to let himself watch what was coming, far too consumed by the unusual and uncomfortable mixture of pleasure and shame. 

When the hot, wet flood of heat wrapped around his cock with a deep, tight suck, he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan that arose from it and reached back a bit to clutch onto the edge of the ledge behind him in a firm, hard grasp, trying to plant his feet better so his legs wouldn’t begin to shake. He could never understand why this always felt so incredibly consuming when he let Ian do this, even feeling another draught of shame for enjoying it so much, though he tried as best he could to shut the latter feeling out, as hard as that was most times. But the way the redhead would become so seemingly engulfed within the act of trying to please him during this, humming and moaning around him as his head bobbed, and the way his throat clenched so perfectly when he swallowed, was another sight and sensation that was incomparable to anything else he’d ever experienced before. Which is why he often couldn’t bring himself to watch him do it, refusing to admit even to himself how much he really wanted to, how much he liked it. It was supposed to be wrong. 

But he let himself slip, just a bit, the way he often seemed to do with Ian and bit down on his lip once more, tipping his head back forward to open his eyes and peer down at the sight in front of him. The redhead had his eyes closed and his pants open, with a hand between his legs stroking a thick, hard length in it’s grasp, moaning lightly through his nose as he pushed Mickey’s cock as far down his throat as he could over and over again. The dark haired man still battled his own flow of noises as he took advantage of the other man’s eyes being closed, and watched his motions much longer than he normally would have, particularly unable to stop his sight from lingering on the redhead’s quickly pumping fist, slicking the head of his cock with precum. And Mickey ignored the shame he felt when the sight absentmindedly made him lick his lips, a daring, taunting thought creeping through the back of his mind that wondered if Ian’s cock could ever possibly taste as good as it looked. His mouth parted with a heavy breath and he almost closed his eyes again. But instead he gave into his urge and gazed back toward the other man’s mouth, watching as his cheeks hallowed and his pucker began to swell and Mickey swallowed every single moan that threatened to escape him, refusing to let the intense pleasure of it break him. 

It felt good, incredible, amazing, but it still wasn’t what he’d come for, not the same escape he’d been chasing no matter how intensifying or mind boggling it was. Just as his hips began to rock slightly, pulling at him, urging him to give in and let himself participate more, deep, green eyes suddenly opened and were now looking up at him, emitting a gaze that was simply drenched with lust and pleasure, and Mickey had to look away. 

“Enough,” he mumbled out quietly and pulled his hips back, his cock falling free of the redhead’s mouth with a soft, wet pop, who simply took a few breaths, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose from the floor. 

Mickey didn’t want to look at his face anymore, not now, he just couldn’t. So, he didn’t pause or hesitate in turning around to face the wall, pulling his own coat off and dropping it to the floor, then leaned to place his forearms down atop the ledge, dipping his head down between his shoulder blades. But the redhead didn’t pause either, somehow understanding the other boy’s urgency. Mickey heard the young man behind him fish through the pocket of his jacket still on the ledge beside him, seemingly searching for lube, then the click of a cap being flipped open and he felt his pores quiver and tingle over his skin a bit more. 

This is what happened every single time in the seconds and moments just before they began to engage in their secret, private act, and were always intense for Mickey, almost suspenseful, knowing what was coming, secretly relishing it. This was what he’d been chasing, what he’d been after and his limbs almost trembled a bit harder with another powerful rush of anxious, anticipating nerves spreading rapidly over his body. This was the release and there was nothing like it. He waited with a quickly growing impatience, trying to ignore the cold air nipping at his exposed flesh, when he suddenly felt the brush of silky, wet fingers begin to slide over him and he wiggled around a bit. 

“No,” Mickey directed, lifting his head and turning his face just a bit to speak over his shoulder, “Don’t need that shit,” he said. Ian retracted his hand but paused with a bit of hesitance. 

“Are you sure?” Ian asked, just trying to be certain, not at all wanting to hurt him. But the other boy didn’t answer, merely turning his face away and pushing his hips backward toward him with an urging insistence. 

The redhead didn’t push any further, understanding again, and just adjusted his pants around his thighs, slicked the lube from his fingers over the head of his cock instead, then placed a hand on Mickey’s hip, taking a small step forward to gently line up with him. Mickey closed his eyes, exhaling slowly and relaxed his body, feeling the grip on his hip tighten just before he felt the slow, stretching pressure of Ian’s cock beginning to press into him with a deliciously satisfying burn. A deep, low groan forced it’s way up his throat as his hands curled into fists, the boy behind him gently pressing more and more, pushing more deeply with each small thrust, and every slight rock of his hips, slowly working his way into him, erupting a melody of small, needy noises escaping Mickey’s lips without his control, no longer wanting to control them anyway.

The feeling of vulnerability was always almost instant, but it wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable one. As much as he’d never voice it aloud, Mickey trusted the kid, at least in some fashion, allowing him to do such things to him, to place him in such a position, the only person he’d ever allowed to do so. He never once thought he’d ever try to take advantage of it or taunt him with it later, not that he wouldn’t just kick his ass if he ever did anyway. But there was indeed a trust there, an understanding, a respect almost and Mickey was grateful to receive it from him, even if he never said or showed it. Ian was special and deep down he knew that, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it. 

After a few minutes of gentle coaxing, Ian had pushed in fully, bottoming out and pressing his pelvis firmly into the man in front of him who couldn’t seem to control the trembles now flowing from his limbs. He kept on hand on his hip, and placed his other just above his tailbone as he began to roll his hips a bit wider and Mickey quietly moaned into the sensation, his face still turned down and hidden away. The redhead stayed deep in his press and stayed slow in his thrust, still not wanting to hurt him, patiently trying to stretch him just enough to move a bit faster, a bit harder. Ian began very subtly rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the other man’s hips, knowing in these moments that he could do such things, enjoying the brief welcoming of intimacy that he knew the other man would never allow at any other time. After a few more thrusts and the slightest circling motion of Ian’s pelvis, Mickey loosened a bit and began to pulse around him as he gradually sped up his pace some, both of them beginning to moan and pant louder from the slick, hot connection between them. Ian’s hands gripped tighter once more just before he leaned forward to whisper to Mickey, letting a hot rush of breath flow delicately over the man’s ear. 

“You always feel so good,” he praised quietly, his voice full of genuine admiration, laced thickly with the hazy heat of pleasure, “So good,” Ian breathed again, his lips against the back of his shoulder, rolling his hips a bit harder, still staying deep, loving the noises his movements pushed out of Mickey and his hands shifted up a bit, “Can I touch you?” he asked much more shyly, his voice now quite unsure, but still hopeful and soft and the other man swallowed as the words hit his ears. 

He’d heard him, but he hesitated, turning his face just slightly, only to acknowledge that he knew he’d spoken, but didn’t quite answer. Ian had known from the very beginning that he really didn’t like being touched in that way, just far too uncomfortable with so much intimacy, so much closeness, as it was just too emotional, too much like something more. But like all the rules he’d set for himself, every once in a while, when he was alone like this with Ian, he’d allow himself to bend them, just a little bit. Deep down, as much as he’d probably always deny it, Mickey actually wanted that intimacy, craved it, yearned for it, perhaps even felt that on some level maybe he needed it, even if he’d never, ever voice it. 

He turned his face away again, and dipped his head back down, the young man behind him knowing well that no objection to the query was enough of an answer in itself and very slowly began to let his hands travel up under his shirt, to rub and caress the muscles along the other man’s back, enjoying the feeling of smooth, warm skin beneath his palms. Mickey let a soft, shaky exhale pass through his lips and closed his eyes again, letting himself feel the other man’s touch for just a brief moment, not wanting to ignore it during the short time he’d have it. 

The redhead kept his hands moving, roaming, pausing here and there to grasp and rub, silently praising every dip and curve of the other man’s body beneath his palms. And Mickey let him, blaming it on being caught in the moment but quite shamefully enjoyed it all the same, even moving and bending slightly to press himself further into the other man’s grasp. Then one arm moved to curve around him, a single, freckled palm gliding up over his abs, clasping firmly over his chest and Ian began to snap his pelvis with a bit more intention, his lips still pressed lazily into the top of the other man’s back, another moany pant passing through them. 

Mickey moaned, groaned and grunted with a sinfully euphoric pleasure flowing through his body and he paid no mind to how high his voice became or what he sounded like, seemingly just needing to be disassembled, and taken apart. He needed his fix. Ian seemed to need it too, also seeming to somehow find a similar release from being with Mickey in this way and it was a feeling that the redhead never really stopped himself from giving into. He held the other man close, knowing it was the only time he’d ever let him do it and rocked his hips up into a quicker, sharper snap, beginning to move with a slightly stronger pound, the flesh of their bodies gently smacking together and the sound quickly filled the room with a persistent, rising echo. 

The angle Ian had moved into, along with the fast, rigorous pace he’d set was melting Mickey apart and simply pulling him to pieces, his muscles tensing hard, filled with blood, his skin flushed with a spread of goosebumps and a long loud array of moaning, gasping, and swearing poured from his mouth, simply lost to all else. The redhead stole the opportunity to place a single, wet kiss atop the base of the other man’s neck, knowing he was far too lost to care, pressed his chest more firmly down into his back and tipped his chin back toward his ear. 

“Do I feel good too?” he asked hardly above a whisper, the hope in his voice remaining, silently urging him to reciprocate and speak back to him, but Mickey hesitated again. 

In the very beginning, when they’d first started fucking, Ian would sometimes try to speak to him while engaged in their encounters, but he’d been quick to put a stop to it. It’d just been far too much for him to grasp, having a hard enough time accepting the fact that he was letting another guy fuck him in his ass. But over time, Ian slowly began to try again, carefully testing the waters, just once in a while and with that same time Mickey had gradually begun to respond to him, but just once in a while. Now was one of those times, being caught within his so very open and vulnerable state, not wanting to hold it all back during this moment when he suddenly felt so cleansed and free, teetering on the edge of such wonderfully deafening release. He curled his fists more tightly as another moany groan passed through his lips and he lifted his head just slightly to speak back.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied through a stuttery, shaky breath, grunting from the hard, full plunge the other man was pounding him with, his eyebrows pulled together tight, “So fuckin' good,” he emphasized, then moaned rather loudly as the redhead pulled back nearly the entire length of his cock, and abruptly pushed back in with more force. 

Ian groaned pleasurably into his movements as well, feeling the way he made the slick, tight heat of the other man quake around him and leaned back some, sliding his hand off Mickey’s chest, back over his stomach and onto his back, pushing up his shirt and grasping him firmly at the back of his neck. And Mickey let him, handing over his power and giving away his control, still trusting him in everything he did. Ian’s other hand still squeezed his hip as the one atop his neck pressed him down a bit further, holding him in place as the redhead's cock continued to push and throb and fuck into him with such strength and force, over and over again, the man on the receiving end of each rough, deep thrust now practically no more than a puddle of flaring, flashing nerves beneath him. 

Mickey could feel it coming on quick, building, rising, quickly growing and getting ready to erupt. It was what he’d been searching for, what he’d been chasing, what he’d wanted and needed so very badly and each time he was on the verge of it flooding over him, he had to hold his breath. Ian didn’t reach to stroke him into climax alongside him, knowing that he didn’t want it, didn’t need it, just feeling the stretch of his girth sliding in and out of him and the heat of the redhead’s chest molding into his back was more than enough to finish him. Mickey sunk his teeth further into his lip, as his eyes pressed into a harder clamp, and the moans and groans that escaped him began to punch out more deeply. Then his chest swarmed with a light, tickling flutter, the pound of his heart filled his ears and the ever crashing waves within his mind suddenly began to smooth and settle, the pressure of their churn spilling down into his pelvis and overflowing elsewhere. Just as felt the cock pumping into his ass suddenly fill, beginning to pulse and the redhead’s hips stuttered just slightly, his own cock began to throb and he let the release take him, welcoming it with all he had, letting it wash over him in a powerful, consuming wave. This was what he'd craved.

Ian let out a long, breathy moan, thrusting into his orgasm, erupting deep inside the man, something he'd only recently begun allowing him to do, smiling lightly as he listened to Mickey's breath hitch as he filled him, then felt him tremble into his own climax as well, spurting hotly and untouched against the concrete of the ledge and exhaled with another beaten, shaky breath. They both paused and panted, the redhead not yet pulling out, nor did the dark haired man tell him to, staying connected for just a moment before very slowly, Ian took a single step back and separated them. Mickey didn't linger in his haze, almost immediately reaching for his pants still wrapped around his knees and pulled them back up to his hips, before snatching his coat up from the floor to quickly shrug back on as well. 

As amazing and incredible as it always seemed to be, always completely worth all the stress and wait he always struggled through during their times apart in between, it always seemed to be over with far too fast. Sometimes he wished he was strong enough to simply accept what he knew he'd felt deep down, wanting to give the other boy more and receive more in return but he still knew how wrong it all was and that always seemed to stop him from pondering on the possibility any further. And he wasn't ignorant of the fact that the redhead wanted more as well, as he never failed to make it known, no matter how many times Mickey shot him down when he tried. He just couldn't do that, not with the way things were, not when he knew he had to be someone completely different. There could never be more than what there was, and there really shouldn't even be that. Ian was a terrible secret that he could never let out. 

He closed his jeans and refastened his belt, then reached into his pocket for his cigarette pack, pulling a single smoke from the box to place between his lips and light before finally turning around, still not wanting to look at Ian. The redhead was still a bit breathless, the hint of a satisfied smile still pulling at his lips as he stood, looking the other man over, readjusting his pants as well. The other man kept his eyes toward the floor, thumbed his lip and pulled another drag from his cigarette, then reached for his bottle of whiskey. 

Mickey began to take a step toward the door, not wanting to speak or interact any further, having gotten what he needed, nervous of whatever else may be said between them, just wanting to leave, when he saw the other man take a step as well and he paused, finally looking up at his face. The expression he held was one that made the shorter boy even more nervous, his chest suddenly beginning to squeeze with a painful anxiety and he watched him take another step. 

He knew what was coming, what he was going to ask him and as much as he hated that the redhead kept trying to do it, that he held such persistence, he still stopped to let him ask every single time, even knowing his answer wouldn't change. Ian walked up close, with his shoulders slightly dropped and his face still shy and hopeful, despite his gesture never being accepted. He looked into his eyes with a small twinkle of green from his own, then dropped them to his lips and spoke very quietly. 

"Can I kiss you?" he dared with another whisper, slowly raising his gaze back to the other man's eyes who suddenly had to drop them a bit and avoid the visual contact. 

Even though Mickey would never admit it, he'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about it, that he'd never considered it even for a second, but he had, secretly to himself during the few times he'd let his mind slip. But he was just too nervous, too scared, too weak to give in, and far too stubborn to let himself break that much. Now was no different and he wasn't going to give in, no matter how much he wished he could and no matter how much knew it would hurt the other man to reject him, just like every other time he had. Mickey kept a hard, unwavering expression, took another long swig of booze, sucked his teeth and looked away. 

"No," he replied firmly, then moved around him to walk toward the door, forcing himself not to look back at the hurt and disappointment that he knew now painted the other man's face at the response, almost even feeling the crushing sensation within the redhead's chest radiate across the room and pierce through his back. But he simply sped up his steps, kept his face straight ahead as he entered the hall and began down the stairs, just trying to ignore it and leave it all behind, just like everything else. 

He could never let himself get too involved or feel too much, because he knew what the other boy wanted and maybe even on some level deep down what he wanted too, even if he still couldn't admit it, was just something that could never be, not with the way things were. What they were was all they could ever be and he knew that. They'd both have to learn to be content with the fact, because he doubted it could ever change. That's not who he was supposed to be. 

And as he walked, he tried not to think or dwell or reflect too deeply, taking yet another swig from his bottle with the hopes that the alcohol would drown it all out. Mickey had gotten his fix, cured his craving, scratched that awful, nagging itch and that just had to be enough, for now. Gallagher was a lot of things to him, even if he never spoke them aloud, but refused to let himself focus on it too much, he couldn't. The kid was a lure, a temptation, a wonderfully consuming addiction that Mickey could never seem to shake, but he refused to accept the hold he knew it had on him, always trying to explain it away. Nothing and no one had ever effected him like this before, something he wasn't used to, couldn't get used to and still just couldn't allow it to be anything more than it was, no matter how he felt. 

Ian was just a brief distraction from the pain, a break, a slip, a forbidden pleasure that he'd never been able to find anywhere else. Ian was simply an angel of release, and nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small note: In this fic, I do alternate between the use of the words "man" and "boy" simply because I feel that during this time, they were both kind of sitting on the cusp of manhood and could still teeter either way. Hope it makes sense. :)
> 
> Also, my next update should be on ITP, then I will get another up on HTS, so please stay tuned! More to come on both! :)
> 
> Thank you again for reading! :)


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